Swing

It's too hard
To love that which will not be loved
To see that which one would rather ignore
To make peace with the overwhelming amount
of things we do not know about the future
To be honest, when the truth is so far from the ideal.

But it is winter, yet. The ice floes in the river move slowly through the wooden remnants of piers past. Street corners grow slippery, each breath becomes a cloud even on the subway platform. This, too, shall pass, and everything looks different in daylight.

I will breathe, and wait, until the sunlight returns. I will carry your fears, and your sorrows, and we will cross the bridges together. You do not know it yet, but everything will be okay in the end.